It Never Happens the Way We Think It Will Happen

I am walking my dog when it happens. The woman does not see me. The woman does not see my dog. The woman points her car my way and guns it, and when I see she doesn’t see me—doesn’t see my bright blue shirt nor my arm waving ‘hello neighbor’ in the air nor my big yellow lab standing at the side of her driveway—I dive to my right and the bumper of her car clips my hip and I tumble down and over the newly-mowed grass of her lawn and the next thing I know I’m lying there, just lying there, pushing to get up and looking at my dog looking down at me with her tail wagging, wagging wagging wagging. The dog licks my hand. We are alive, the dog seems to say. We are okay.

For the last decade I’ve been walking my dogs in a downtown neighborhood, and at least once a week I hear myself screaming, “It’s called a fucking STOP sign!” at some giant SUV with a mom driving her kids to school (coffee in one hand, cell phone in the other), certain that one day this composite character of a mom is going on take me out. And yet it is not until today, this day of me tumbling on the grass, focused on a wagging tail, when I feel the constant anticipation in me. When I start to think about how much time and angst and exactitude and energy I spend laying out blueprints that say: This. Yes this. Surely this is how it is going to happen.

I do not think of myself as a worrier, an anticipator of disaster. In fact, in my fantasy mind of who I am, I am the opposite of this. I am the positive thinker. I am the dreamer. I am the Annie song ‘Tomorrow’. I am the woman who banks on today and hopes all good things for the next, the lighthearted comforter patting shoulders and holding hands, telling those panicking around me, “Relax, really, it will be what it will be. It will all be fine.” I remember telling my mother this when she was dying. “Don’t worry,” I said over and over again. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. And I will take care of everything.” One night while my mother was sleeping, I was on the phone with a friend whose mother had died the year before. “Watch her feet,” she warned. “We all die from the ground up. If you think your mom is getting close, check her feet. If the bottoms are turning any shade of blue, be ready to call people, to say your goodbyes.” For the next many days I was a vigilant, albeit sneaky, foot-checker, wafting sheets at the end of my mother’s bed when I was sure no one was around. I imagined the possible shades of blue. I imagined the time I would have with her at the end, the people I would call and in what order I would call them, and how fast they would all get there and how we would surround my mother in a giant circle while she passed on.

Of course that’s not how it happened. It was noon on a Sunday. I was sitting there alone with my mother when her breaths became shallow and sporadic, sometimes gasping. She scared me. I backed away and leaned against the other bed in the room. At some point a nurse came in, put her stethoscope to my mother’s chest, listened, waited. Minutes passed. I moved closer. The nurse told me to sit down, though I remained standing. The nurse turned off the beeping machines. Silence. Out in the hall I called my brothers. “Mom’s gone,” I said, “can you come over?” One brother said he would see me later. The other brother said, “Why would I come now if she’s already gone?” I called her husband. No answer. So I stopped calling people. I walked back to my mother’s room and, standing in the doorway, saw that the nurse had pulled away the sheet.

Maybe this is the story. It never happens the way we think it will happen. I am 36 years old. I am 36 and alone with my dead mother and I am wearing the soft purple shirt she gave me that I only pretended to like and that I will put in the trash at my hotel and I am staring at, taking inventory even, of my mother’s naked body, at her open, thick-looking eyes, her shoulders her breasts her stomach her hips her knees, the palms of her hands, open and still. The nurse comes back. I never even make it all the way to her feet.

All that I time I wasted in the planning, in the imagining. All that time, wasted.

I think about the conversations I have in my head that I never end up having with another human being. The constant inner-planning. The scenario staging. My fear of the ever-dreaded surprise. When I was growing up there was no such thing as a good surprise. Lack of planning, lack of proper and thorough anticipation meant falling off a cliff. Surprise meant moving towns or changing schools or the child support check showing up late or wondering if I could afford school lunch. As an adult there is still no such thing as a good surprise, and yet I still refuse to see myself as that person, as the worry wart (what a horrible name), the multi-scenario imaginer of events that I so very often am.

I recall another story told by the friend whose mother had died with blue feet. She and her sister are sitting on either side of their mother’s bed, each of them holding one of their mother’s hands, and as their mother takes her last breath the sister slides Mom’s wedding rings right off and onto her own finger, admiring it, watching it sparkle, then looks at my friend and says, “It’s mine. Mom always wanted me to have it.”

How, I think, could my friend have ever imagined her mother’s last breath would happen like this?

Within minutes of my being knocked to the ground, the woman is out of her car, hand over her mouth in shock, apologizing and sobbing hysterically. I am hugging and comforting her. “It’s okay,” I repeat as I rub her back, “and I’m okay. I really am. I’m okay, see? I’m sorry this happened too, but here we are.” I gesture to my dog, my yellow lab at the end of her leash, panting and smiling, wagging her big yellow tail. “See, we are all okay.”

Eventually I let go and turn to brush grass clippings and leaves from my sweatpants. I check to see if there are any rips or tears, and there are not. I rub the bottom of my leg and feel a hot stinging sensation, a burning, down the side of my calf. But I don’t pull up my pants leg because I don’t want to scare her, to worry her.

Days later, I will be thankful for emails I sent within the hour because once I get over the shock of getting hit by the car, the terror of what it feels like to see a car barreling straight for me, I can barely imagine it. No matter how many times I try to reconstruct the stage, I can’t do it. I am mostly blank. I have what think is a road burn on my lower leg, but it is healing and will probably not even leave a scar. My ass aches a little where her bumper knocked me to the grass, but mostly I feel fine.

More days pass. I simply feel lucky.

The woman calls and tells me she has a confession: she never saw me at all. Never saw me, even though it was 9:30 in the morning on a bright sunny day and I was wearing a blue shirt and waving ‘hello’ and walking a big yellow dog. Unlike me, she never imagined this could happen. She tells me she only stopped because she heard a thud, and it was only when she saw me lying in the grass with my dog that she realized what had just happened. I listen quietly, but what I feel is enraged … not at her, but at her lovely lack of forethought. This is what normal people are like, I think, and this is what I envy: the luxury of true spontaneity. The lack of expectation of impending disaster. How comforting it must be to never imagine and imagine and imagine such an event. The lack of worry and anticipation. The lack of mentally creating and dreading what-might-be.

I think back on all the energy and time I’ve spent imagining such a thing, all the times I’ve screamed at some mom driving her kids to school, imagining a very real someone running me right over, “It’s called a fucking STOP sign!” and I pause. I want to scream, but what’s the point? Maybe it never happens the way we think it will happen. I think about the time I was alone with my mother, and time wasted. I remember my mother’s last day on this earth, my purple shirt, her exposed body lying atop a white sheet, and yet what I remember most clearly, most vividly, are my mother’s hands. Her open, unassuming hands.

Have you ever read something that struck you in so many ways, you felt nauseous? (raises hand)

First, what I read about your mother’s passing gobsmacked me upside the head. Of course, with Dad now gone, my sense of my own mother’s mortality has been heightened exponentially. And I have this thing about hands anyway, so how you viewed hers was so emotionally overwhelming I had to stop reading for a few minutes.

The SUV hitting you. O.M.G. I’m glad you’re all right. I don’t want to dramatize this any more than what I’m sure you’ve already pictured in your own mind, but I knew this girl…met her when I visited my best friend in The Keys. She took up running and was training for a marathon. On a bright clear morning as well, she was running towards the rising sun. A car rounded a curve going in the same direction, and the sun, I’m sure blinded them. It hit her from behind. She was only 32.

What happened to her heightened my own senses for when I go out on my runs, so that I run like I drive, defensively. And like you, despite watching out for others so I can watch out for myself, someone, also in a large SUV, came close to hitting me a couple years ago. Close as in I had to jump out of the way, and landed on my side after stumbling over a hedge. She knew me and sent me flowers that day, which I tossed b/c I was still pretty pissed off. Like your scenario, she was on a cell phone.

It’s interesting that I was not angry at all that she hit me. Accidents happen, and can happen to anyone, and when I think about the close calls I’ve had of various kinds over 30+ years of driving — whoa. She wasn’t on a phone or anything, just, as she said, “thinking about something else” and also not getting much sleep. What got me was the idea that she’d never even imagined such a thing could happen, and the envy came right out of me.

Whew, that is powerful. Really, really (because one really just won’t do) well done. And I am stunned to know that someone else has conversations with others in their head that they plan and replan. It never occurred to me that someone else’s brain wears them out like mine does. All those planned things to do and say that never happen. What an odd thing for a brain to do. Even anxiety meds don’t stop my brain from doing that.

Today my things to be thankful for include that you and your pooch are okay.

Thank you, Mary Lynne. To your point, I was just today listening to a podcast about sleep and taking naps. Turns out people whose brains work like yours and mine are storytellers and creative thinkers (as are, I’m sure, many of the commenters here). So apparently all of our constant mental acrobatics are actually good for our work. xoxo

The dying from the feet up idea? It’s true. I watched it happen to my grandfather. The cold feeling and the bluish yellow color creeping up from his feet to his calves, to his thighs, upward more toward his midsection and then he was gone.

Teri, you dear sweetheart, I think every emotion is felt in this writing. I loved it, felt it, and thought about your life once again. I am very glad you were not more seriously hurt. Bless your heart and your life.

I always say to my husband that it’s not like the movies. Anyone who has ever witnessed a fist fight knows that a punch doesn’t make a big popping sound. It doesn’t look good and cool and virile, but two men clumsily lunge at each other, cling to each other.
I have three very active sons. I see danger everywhere I look. I am not a stressed Mum as such, but I know enough of how our bodies work to know that a bang on the head is enough. A minute under water is enough. A peanut or a grape swallowed the wrong way is enough. It does take away some of your serendipity.
My Mum dies 6 months ago. Lung cancer. Never smoked in her life. It really never happends the way we think, does it?

Great post! It resonated with me. I’m Soooo much like you. And I too live the same way. And I’ve thought about it on depth, and at 50 my conclusion is..for people like you and me it happens exactly the way it’s supposed to happen. Having your antennae up, scanning the horizon works for us. That’s why we don’t run over women men dogs or children. Lol. Keep your antennae up. Its part of who you are.

Hi Teri! You are right, it never happens the way we think it will! My own brain likes to do that as well, go through all these scenarios and plan, create insurance for every possible contingency! See, all the crazy stuff, all the bad stuff, death and accidents and so on still happen, but we feel less responsible if we create all these mental insurance policies constantly. But it makes for a pretty boring life. Too much insurance I say. Just go jump off a cliff already! Yell! Do something crazy! Let your heart beat like a whirlwind! WRITE A SENTENCE ALL IN CAPS ON A WORDPRESS FRESHLY PRESSED COMMENT SECTION! Whooee that was fun:)
Glad you’re ok though I enjoyed your post!👍👍

Reblogged this on From Minion to Management and commented:
I can completely relate to this post. How blissful it must be to live only in this one exact moment, not worrying about the possibilities of tomorrow or failures of yesterday.

Life never pans out the way you plan it should be. However when we learn to go with the flow and accept it for what it is, major battles are won and energy can be channelized into doing something extraordinary

I love this essay. It’s touching and so true. I too spend a lot of time imagining things that never happen. Some however do happen and you’re right, it’s never exactly how you imagined it. There is always a surprise in there somewhere. For me though lots of things happen that I never saw coming and some of these surprises are actually good.

I am moved to the core by this. I am 42 and going through some sort of mid life crisis in which I realized that NOTHING in life has worked out they way I over-play the potential scenarios in my head. It led me to a sit-still stale mate with myself in which I was unable to plan any kind of future at all, which led to a break down. Granted, my genetics were kind enough to have me predisposed for certain mental challenges, so I am now working with diagnoses and therapy. But your thoughts are so well laid out, so deeply penetrating, and so perfectly aligned with my own mental spin. Excellent write. Thank you for being so open.

Beautiful thoughts, a great post indeed!! The relation between your accident and your mom’s death are wonderful!! We always expect things to happen in a certain manner, but on the contrary they never happen in that manner. Our life always has a trick in its sleeve, so as to surprise us, startle us in wild ways!!! 🙂

A lovely post indeed.
We are all earthly humans and tend to think and imagine more than necessary. Its like a part of our routine to imagine and keep ourselves busy in nothing else but fears and at times dreams. So, i guess it is better to keep busy in some or the other thing. And yes accidents happen and do hurt but at times it gives us something too like having a good contact with the other person. 🙂

Such a beautiful and powerful post! I’m happy to know that I’m not the only one to plan conversations and scenarios in my head. I always end up deviating from my plan when situations strike. Yet it doesn’t stop me from planning and perfecting the next conversation.
I’m glad you are safe! 🙂

You had me at the title. I felt as though you were reminding me of a story in my own life.
I thought I was tur only persson these things happen to. This was just written so beautifully. Thank you for sharing such a powerful story

Reblogged this on It's always darkest before the dawn and commented:
This post outlines my daily thought process. And it really does not happen in real life the way I think it will. But I hate to be surprised, caught with my pants down, nothing to say, awkward silence — or worse, awkward jabbering on. Being ill prepared makes me anxious but feeling like I have a mental plan in place curbs that anxiety, even if that plan never pans out.

Drivers can be oblivious because the shell of a vehicle enhances self absorption. I see close calls all the time. Mortality, as you so eloquently point out, is always there. Beautiful bittersweet post.

Such a powerful and strong blog. But whatever happens in our lives is how we take it and express it.how we want to see the things and what world sees about us depends on how we pretend it to be.. be positive because our destiny is how positive or negative we are!

Don’t feel bad if it takes a *really* long time to shake that off. I saw my girlfriend get hit by drunk driver going about 40mph. She’s fine now but it was over a month in the hospital. I still have nightmares and think about it every day, and it was eight months ago. Don’t feel bad if things don’t go back to normal right away.

Reblogged this on Can I Get Back To You? and commented:
Teri Carter shares her thoughts about how dying is supposed to happen. Why is it that we can’t just let something happen? What kind of personality creates scenarios to “be prepared” for anything? Drives me crazy sometimes, how prepared I am. How happy I am when it actually happens. Yet, how utterly unprepared I am for it.

Hi Teri — Wow, thanks so much for writing this. I help curate a collection on Medium.com called Human Parts (http://medium.com/human-parts) and I’d love to share it with our readers. Would you be interested in that? If so, email me (hsockel@gmail.com) and let me know! I’d just need a short bio and I’d link back to the original here.

Your post touched me so much. It brought back memories of the odd circumstances of my mom’s death 10 years ago. Looking in the rearview mirror on my life, I realize that I could never have seen it all coming.
Last week when running on a country road, I increased my vigilance as I crested a hill and approached a curve in the road. I could hear what the screech of tires might sound like. I could feel my head being slammed into the gnarly tree ahead. I could feel the coolness of the ditch that I would fall in, feel the prickly weeds scrape my legs and hear the first responders’ questions.
And then I ran past the spot without incident, somehow thinking that by imagining the worst I had scared it away.
Our imaginations are so very powerful.

This is such a thought provoking post. Most of is do spend a lot of time in thoughts around scenarios that never materialize. I’m sorry for the loss of your dear mother and the lackluster response of family immediately following. That’s not how I would imagine it. So glad you’re okay from your close encounter with a big machine and a driver on auto pilot!

You have endured a great deal of painful loss(es) in your life, it seems, and all the while your concern has been that others not be inconvenienced. My heart aches for you that you have gone through all of this alone (it seems). Hope your imagination will, in time, be filled with more beautiful scenarios that begin to manifest…being deeply cherished and adored, knowing others find comfort and joy in your writing and music, and finding the loving place inside yourself that always feels like home.

Wow! I could visualize you through your writing. It really never happens the way we plan it and like you said, its a waste of time really. I spend a whole lot of time playing scenes and simulating what my reaction would be in case a, b, and c which hardly even happens. Beautiful writing. I think I will follow you a bit and see.

Wow, even though I feel everyone’s uniqueness I could not identify with you more as a person. Beautifully written as well, thank you for the reminder “It never happens the way we think it will happen”. ❤

Im sorry about your mom…
I stage things in my head too. Scenarios I dread, conversations I wish I could have, some with people I don’t care much about even.
My point is, you’re not the only one… buy maybe it’d be good to practice pushing out those scenarios out of our minds… Like you said, nothing happens the way we think it will

Your words are compelling. Like you, I’m a??? As I read through some of your comments I realize there are many of us and I’m curious about that. Sometimes I think I’d like to be one of those OTHER people, never worrying about the stove being left on, the water running in the sink, no thought to upcoming meetings, or trips. Maybe they just turn everything over to God and live in the now. Maybe their faith is stronger than mine. I only know that when I prepare for the worst, when I imagine everything that might go wrong, knowing the odds are against catastrophe, then, I can relax and enjoy the moment. Now is that a false sense of security? Yep. As you said, it never happens the way you think it will. Life is a mystery.

That was an intense experience. Do you meditate? I do, and I find it helps me enormously! Gives me a sense of connectedness to the life force that also serves me to experience a stillness within. I can worry still, but at least I find that I can reset myself. I have a set practice every day. I love it.

Thank you for this story. The “dying from the feet up” scared me though: I was ill about a month ago – and it started with my feet becoming ice cold and numbing away and it “climbed” up to the waist, I had no idea what was happening. Then my skin became supersensitive to any touch, to the point where it hurt when my partner lightly put his finger on it, I couldn´t sit or lie down, but felt too weak to stand, then it seemed to develop into a stomach-sickness and the “storm” blowed over. After four days I was back at work.. Still wondering what the hell that was..?..

I hate death.
But is forced to deal with it anyway, as we all are. I would choose the word “rarely” instead of “never” because of my experiences though.

Oh, wow. Just wow. I am so glad you’re okay. I feel like these words, better than I could have written express a story that might have been my own. Both in my own accident when the car hit me and said, “I wasn’t looking for bicyclists” and I told her, “I’m okay! See, I’m up and walking! My bike is destroyed, but I’m okay.” I started walking away, and couldn’t move my hands all of a sudden, and started coughing up blood. Turned out capillaries had just burst in my lungs as I had bruised my ribs and lungs, and sprained my neck and wrists. Quite a lot of fun, for a college student at the time. When my own mother passed away, and while taking care of her, I, too, kept planning what I would say to her, to make up for all the silences between us. Instead, the words only rushed out in the moment after her last breath, when I realized all my moments had passed, and there would be no other moment. I had kept the words inside too long, thinking about them, honing them, trying to make them perfect. And then she was gone. And most of what I had said to her was, “It’s okay.” But it really wasn’t. Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story.

Reblogged this on R.R. Wolfgang and commented:
Such a beautifully written and poignant expression of grief and frustration. And it’s so true. It never happens the way we think it will happen. As much as we may plan for it, whatever it may be, we often don’t even know the moment is upon us, until the moment is already gone.

I am sorry about your mum and I’m sorry about you getting hit by your neighbours car. I know how you feel in regards to over thinking millions of scenarios that won’t happen. It causes me to have anxiety issues and now I’m on meds for it. But I know that reading stories like yours and knowing that it rarely happens the way we think, helps me. Thank you for your post.

Wow, life really does throw some curve balls. We’ve all had bad experiences in life. What I figured is even if you have to throw on a fake smile to enjoy the good things, it’s well worth it. Great story I’m glad you shared. I’m young and new to blogging, and would like some criticism on my first blog post. 🙂

What an intense post. I think about death almost every day now. I care for my 91-yr old grandmother. I wonder how her last day will be and hope nothing happens to me first. But most importantly, I try my best not to focus on it. Very intense. Thank you for your post.

What a well written “expose” on tragedy… even those that end without death. I really agree with you: rarely does anything on Earth happen the way we think it will. My sister was dying the day she was born, and my family and I wrote a hundred million storylines of how it would happen, and yet the worst – and best – was the way it actually did.

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Thank You,

Thank-you for sharing such a personal experience. Your thought process on how everything would happen when your mom passed away reminded me of a line from the “Wear Sunscreen” essay. The line I was thinking of is “Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum.” To me this line means it’s impossible to prepare for big events in life because they never happen the way we think. Also I’m sorry for your loss. Sharing your experience is helpful to many. Death can be a difficult subject to deal with.

I wanted to let you know that I have recently started a new business. I am selling motor club memberships for Motor Club of America. They provide their members with Emergency Roadside Assistance for:
Jump Start
Flat Tire Change
Auto Unlock
Fuel Delivery (Cost of Fuel Excluded)
Mechanical and Accident Towing
With no out of pocket expense.
Additionally, they pay to fight your traffic tickets, and even reimburse you for a portion of your emergency room cost on covered accidents.
There are 3 memberships designed to meet your needs and give you Peace of Mind.
MCA Security – $9.95 per month
MCA Security Plus- $14.95 per month
MCA Total Security – $19.95 per month
We initially collect first and last month dues to help ensure that your membership is always in force. Click on the links above for more information.
Thank You,

Such a talented blog. This is the level of creativity of ones personal experience I will one day achieve through my own blogs. I felt very deep into this and I was very drawn in to the point I imagine the whole scenario as I went along. You are such an inspiring blogger, I am simply here to learn from an individual such as yourself and I hope your future will look a lot brighter than it currently is.

At times I feel we all start living in an imaginary space. I can fully connect with the author when she writes she has had imaginary conversations in her head with many people around her. I have such talks with the near ones who are no more. I tell them what I want to and imagine a reply from them. This is a very inspiring blog and I must confess that i got totally involved it. As if, it could happen to me too. Specially walking the dog and facing such idiotic drivers. Then the death of my mother. How I was noticing her breath but when it actually left her I had fallen asleep. Strange how memories come rushing in when one reads something as sensitive as this one. Thank you Teri

I have this feeling or talent or something like that too. I always plan, imagine how it will or might be. It is so hard to live with that, especially in my case. I imagine everything through details until my death, and this happens everyday. My thoughts never stops. There is always thought disturbing me. Like I am falling apart. It is impossible to resist to that thing. I even thought about suicide. I thought that suicide can be the end to this nonstop thought and planning and feelings and emotions. But now I knew that it cannot stop because it is part of me.

Hi. Read your comment. Just want to tell you that maybe if things don’t go as planning, they are still following a track that ultimately leads us to something beautiful. Please don’t ever think of suicide. It’s not an end to such thoughts. It’s the beginning of a self despised life, provided you have only “thought” about it.
Cheer up. There are things beyond planning. Things beyond what we see or feel like doing. Maybe it’s all happening for a greater good. 🙂

Hi. Thank you for these great words of motivation. I am not upset that things are not going by my plan or something like that. I am upset because I always have these plans and my mind full of them and they disturbs me. I won’t think about suicide again.

Great post. So strong and impactful. Indeed things never go as planned and you power packed all that I’d ever want to say about this in such great words.
You inspired me as a new blogger and would love to read more.
If you have some time to spare, please view sparshsehgal.wordpress.com once and guide me on my writing style.
Would love to read your views.
Thanks. Hoping to hear from you.

Well you might as well be writing my story. I am 36. My father has lung cancer and I have spent the past few months preparing for the eventual end. As I plan and scheme something always, and I mean always, changes the plan completely. I sincerely feel what you are writing and hope you heal quickly. In all ways. Thank you for sharing

Umm dont you think you have a wrong approach to this? If you live in a 3rd world or developing nation where hunger, death and struggle is what one faces daily you will not have time to ponder over death, you will be too busy pondering ovet what tomorrow brings. As i type these words i havent had a proper meal since yesterday evening. Its not such a bad thing, i thank God for giving me something to live for, yearn for. There is no hope without dispair, without poverty you cannot appreciate life. Life is a gift from God, embrace it. Our time here on Earth is limited, make the most of it. Heavenly beings will kill (kidding) to experience even for a moment what its like living in our kind of reality. There was war in heaven because of us. Live and enjoy life, make the best impact you can on others.

Events have a logic rooted the physical universe. Sometimes we are in tune with that, and sometimes we have let our fantasies get in the way. We shouldn’t be too surprised when things work out differently than we hoped.

Powerful and Great Post! That’s the game of life, we never know what will happen tomorrow, and when life possesses a hint, the thing we imagine, we always get the fruit of the opposite! The fruit maybe sour, maybe sweet, we never know how will it be!
Insightful! God Bless You Teri!

A poignant, beautiful story. I’m glad I read this today and discovered your writing. After reading, I just wanted to say that you, the revelations revealed, as well as the story itself, were beautiful. I’m looking forward to discovering more as a Follower. From a fellow dog lover and human trying to live in this complex world, thanks for sharing.

Whew. I stumbled upon this while searching for something totally unrelated. What a powerful, well-told story, and it touched many wounds that I keep thinking are closed (but they aren’t). Thank you for opening yourself up for us all.

The ring story your friend told you absolutely horrifies me. It’s amazing how people can still surprise you in all the wrong ways. I’m glad you’re okay and I’m sorry for you (OUCH), your dog (confusing) and the lady (it must have given her the fright of her life). This was a beautifully written post. As someone who lies in the dark and compulsively imagines worst case scenarios every night, I’m with you on wasting time on things that only upset me and will likely never happen the way I expect. I’m going to try do less of that this year…

Just beautiful. I am 36 in March. 2 years ago, I lost my dog and 8 months after that, I lost my father. I liked what you said, the luxury of spontaneity… I do the same. My mind is always exhausted from imagining things. It gets tiring but you have to admit, it cushions the fall… at least somehow.

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